White Devils
by WolfsLegend
Summary: She was created from perfection, bearing no emotion, no personality, and no weakness. She was created to watch over souls and protect the fragile balance, but when an evil rises up from the ashes and threatens the very existence of humanity, her existence is challenged. There's 930,456,247,857,856 souls and only one overseer. Who can she trust to help extinguish the destruction?
1. Part 01

**Although I don't like that the reader did it in the matter that it was done (guest reader, please review a story with criticism... not requests... you should send requests via PM) I received a request. For those of you who sporadically follow me you may have noticed that I don't dwell in crossovers. Not just that, but I don't write Devil May Cry FF for a reason. Don't get me wrong, I love DMC :3 but I feel that I'm not good at writing yet to dwell into that gaming universe; however, for this guest reader I will try.**

 **I don't mind a challenge and it's the first request I've ever had. Why not give it a shot?**

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Request in a Nutshell:

 _Crossover- Devil May Cry and Hyrule Warriors/LoZ_

 _Pairing- Vergil x Cia_

 _Nero's Relationship- offspring of Vergil_

 _Appearances of other characters can be whenever and whatever_

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone when it comes to Devil May Cry and Legend of Zelda series

Rated R for language and future gore (possibly romance, I may be a girl, but I don't fancy writing romance that much... not the obvious kind anyways)

* * *

 _ **White Devils**_

 _ **Part 01 - Image**_

" _Don't get too close, it's dark inside… it's where my demons hide."_

 _\- Demons by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

930,456,247,857,856 souls and yet not a single one could withstand life itself, they could barely surpass the age of one hundred, and despite their age and progressive society they remained as children. It was a disgusting sight, to watch over infants and their continuous failures. How many times did humanity have to repeat itself to make amends?

How many years was it now? How many years had she been "alive," watching over failures? The planet was much older than man thought, but even now she herself could not fathom the planet's ancient origin. Either way, it pushed her to exhaustion and so she curled up on nonexistent ground and snuggled into the rough, glowing attire of lavender and silver.

The void of white dissipated around her, color of black closing in with a whisper as the multitude of visions that ran amok in this realm vanished with the innocent white. She had been watching over humanity since the planet's creation, but each time she attempted rest she never found herself getting used to the change in realms. The darkness was a way to calm her from the sins, the scenes, and the warped mindsets yet it was oh so lonely.

Violet eyes looked on against her desolate sanctuary, but all she ever saw and would see is darkness or that of white. All she would ever witness would be the lives and deaths of billions. Then again perhaps that was best because somewhere inside her soulless body she feared those children that she was tasked to watch over. She feared them and their corruption… even if she desired another's company. Of course, even if she did her very appearance would appear unnatural and perhaps even frightening. Not a single human dawned snowy locks, purple eyes, delicate horns of obsidian, or lifeless flesh. Not a single human could oppose her outer appearance when it came to beauty either. Not a single one could withstand her age of immortality, but was solitude really all that heartwarming, safe? She wasn't entirely sure herself anymore.

 _But what if my existence had been that of a human? How would I look then? Would I feel such emptiness, such fear?_

She nearly erupted with laughter at the very ideal. Such thoughts were irrelevant. Emotions _were irrelevant_. An overseer of human souls should not ponder over things so freely. It was not her duty and neither was allowing herself to believe that she was afraid of dim-witted mortals.

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to feel human. It was better than feeling like an abandoned abomination.

The laughter died away.

* * *

"Must you always bring such filth to my home?" The question was growled out from across the table. For a while, the small and incredibly untidy kitchen had been eerily silent and for a moment the young, white haired teen had suspected that he was free of a scolding. At the inquiry he slumped down into the rickety chair and folded his arms, azure eyes glaring at the dominant figure.

"Kyrie isn't ' _filth_. _'_ 'Sides, it's my home too." The boy slumped further into his seat at the twitch of expression from the other. The reply had sounded a lot better in his head…

"Your house? _Your house_? Oh, so you've been making the payments, keeping up maintenance, providing food for the family, and cleaned this damned building?" The teen squirmed underneath the evolving anger directed toward him. It was always the same comeback and even if he had seen it coming, he still hadn't conjured up a worthy response to back up his previous words. "You don't have a job, a car, or a decent education to even try at saying you own this house or even dare to go against my authority. You're just as bad as your uncle and you're even starting to act like him! I left you in his care for two days, Nero, two days and already you've been making a mess by leaving fucking pizza boxes all over the damned place."

"Uncle Dante is way cooler than you." The child, Nero, muttered angrily under his breath. His defiant expression had dwindled down to a childish pout.

"And he's probably infested with sexual diseases by now." As sporadic as it was, Nero knew better than to laugh at the comment whether it is true or not.

"I'm sixteen though, come on _dad_."

"Exactly. You're still a brat, just like Dante. If you really want to practice his ways of fucking random trash from the streets then do it somewhere else." Nero's father was beginning to let his anger get the best of him and that fact alone scared Nero to silence. The kitchen was already starting to drop in temperature and the one, dim light overhead was already starting to flicker underneath the presence of something sinister. Then again he preferred those anomalies over the crushing weight on his body from the sudden aura that had begun to rip its way into the already unsettling atmosphere.

It wasn't hard angering his father, but it was hard to get his father to show his origins. When something like a demonic aura did come up and about, Nero made sure to shut his mouth and pray that the angry devil would calm down. His father hadn't hit him _yet_ when he'd allowed his inner beast to come out, but there had been a few close calls and flying dishes sent his way.

A sigh, something of disappointment, brought the boy out of his thoughts, "Just finish your toast and get your shit ready for school. You're getting on my last nerves here so if I find out that you skipped school again…" his son eyed him, understanding full well of the possible string of threats. There had been a time when he doubted his father's threats, but that time had been short lived.

Without another word, Nero swallowed the toast and briskly removed himself from the minute hellhole and up to his room. In one last act of childish rebellion, he slammed his bedroom door shut to the point where the whole house shuddered. The very act only made his father grin. It was always satisfying when he could get under the brat's skin.

Nevertheless, the smirk died away right as his demonic side began to wither. Every morning this happened. It was rare for them to have a peaceful moment when together and this was especially true in the mornings. Both of them were nowhere near being that of morning people and with their share of a short temper… always a fight. It wasn't particularly surprising when it came to Nero's little rebellious antics. In fact, it was to be expected. The brat was a little demon after all and one that irritated him to no end.

"What did you think would happen the next morning, you little idiot? You know damn well that demons have sensitive senses… and for you to have sex." He shook his head, disgusted by the mere memory of his son's one night stand. It was troublesome. In all honesty he did love his twin, but that overgrown imbecile annoyed him to no end. "Can't believe it took him two days to de-program my kid." It had been nearly two weeks since he had left Nero in Dante's care after being called to an assignment. Someone had been possessed by a demon and he had been requested to exorcise it. Being wary of Nero's safety, he sent him off to Dante. Since then, Nero had been even more unruly and had even leveled up when it came to annoying his old man. The kid had been a virgin a few weeks ago. "He's only sixteen. Who knows what else Dante taught him." Hopefully his twin hadn't taught Nero how to use his demonic abilities. It would be nice to allow his kid to live a normal life… if possible. Then again what was normal about his family, their history, and the kid's arm?

 _Speaking of which, I forgot to take a look at it today._

He didn't move from the table though, but instead found incredible interest in his cold piece of toast. Nero hadn't mentioned his arm hurting or doing anything abnormal so the demonic appendage was probably fine.

It was odd how his son had a demon's arm. It was like a part of his body was stuck in a Trigger mode, but the possibility of Nero ever attaining that level of demon was thin. Unlike his brother and him who were born from demon and angel, Nero had been born from a demon and a regular mortal. His demonic self was diluted. The arm was probably some sort of side affect or response to an unbalanced birth.

He pondered over that, withholding a fit of laughter over his rather mundane thoughts. His current self was a striking contrast to his former persona. There was a time when he didn't curse so blatantly, a time where he would oppose such contact with mortals, and a time where he would not have even dreamed on having spawn. No, his former self had been too intent in achieving greatness. Such a thing was short lived and either way here he was, mulling over old times in a little kitchen over a plate of cold toast.

"My attitude has gotten rather worse these days." He nudged the paper plate away, "Perhaps I myself have spent too much time around Dante… or the kid." Nero did have a mouth on him just as well and there were a few instances where he found himself wondering if Nero was in fact his kid. The brat resembled Dante when it came to personality.

Footfalls urged him to rise from his chair and rid the table of its contents. When he had thrown away the last remains of breakfast he looked up just in time to see Nero coming down from the last step. The kid had changed into black jeans and a baggy white shirt. A beanie was even added as a last minute excuse to not brush out his messy hair. "You look like a hoodlum." Nero rolled his eyes and set to searching for his backpack in the adjacent room.

"Says the guy who's over eighty." Came the belated response. Demon blood did have its perks.

"Sad isn't it, that that's the best you can come up with these days? Now hurry up, I've got an assignment today and I'd enjoy the possibility of finishing it before midday."

The winter air met them head on, but its touch did little to deter their natural body heat as the pair made their way to the only vehicle that resided on the lot. There had been a time when a motorcycle had been in place of the red sedan, but that was before priorities came about. "Can I drive?" Nero asked, "Please? I promise I won't hit an old lady or something again."

"Can't believe I even allowed you to drive that day too, you don't even have a license. No."

* * *

The darkness receded, the whiteness burning her retinas for a moment before the void of white erupted with life. Images flickered all around her, moving to and fro like broken film, but with one glance at each shifting, grainy image she knew of each human's situation, decision, life, name, everything that made them. She knew it with a glance. Such a thing would have bothered the next person, but her existence was to remain soulless and watchful. Nevertheless, her thoughts wondered over past wonders. The very distraction caused the void to flicker between the white and the black.

That is, until the abnormality of the children replaced one of the images. The distraction vanished and she set her gaze on the child with numb interest. He was different from the rest of them, from his naked species. Unlike the majority, he was considerate and valiant. He was the definition of a hero, a hero constrained into the duties of a law enforcement officer. His very mind fascinated her to no end, but it also brought her to feel a string of undesired and unknown emotions. There was a time when she favored the idea of descending to that very planet that she watched over and balanced just to meet him, but… she was not compatible with such a positive mind.

Apathy. Yes, that's right. She was a husk. She was not dead but she is not living either. She's simply existing.

The image shifted then, during her despairing thought, and that very change of vision caused the realm to flicker again but the change was much more violent. She arose from her curled up spot on the nonexistent floor to eye the error that the realm had found and as her violet eyes rested on the very image, pain grasped her. She fell forward, hands immediately pressing against her heart as bile crawled its way up her throat. The image that she witnessed spread across the sea of souls like a virus until it was that existence and that existence alone.

Darkness. Despair. Hatred. Loneliness. Death. So much blood… so much blood. She cried out at the onslaught of emotion that had sparked to life from the sight. That twisted existence's life driving through her mind like a nail. Just like a nail… she could feel a stream of blood slip down her forehead.

 _"The balance is breaking."_ Cried a chorus of whispers. The very sound shook the flickering realm and distorted the images till one by one they vanished. _"The balance is breaking!"_ She heaved, bile oozing from her lips from the mental pressure that clawed its way through her senses. She'd had several premonitions before, but none of them could be compared to the searing pain of her skull cracking from the omen. All the while she felt her lips move unwillingly, announcing the cause of disturbance.

 _Mundus._

It could be the name of a person, an event, or an object… she didn't know, but either way the predicted reality that wreaked havoc in her head was enough to worry her. This "Mundus" was going to destroy the neutrality, the balance that she cared for like a mother would to a child. Yet… what could she do? It had been so long since the balance had been touched, but the omen was nothing like this one. That and the cause of destruction had been eradicated by the souls she watched over. Unlike that time, this one was much different.

Or was it?

It was possible that she was allowing the pain to escalate. It was possible that her previous, unnatural thoughts encouraged the options that came before her. An overseer was not allowed to interfere with the lives they governed, but… if everything they governed was to be destroyed then what would be so wrong in giving aid?

 _"What can you do? You are an immortal shell that is empty of human emotion."_ The chorus of voices came about again, sounding just as tearful and harsh as the last uttered statements. This voice was something she hadn't heard for a decade or so. It came to her when she least desired its company. It was the voice that existed in this realm, a figment of her—conscience. _"Let the souls be souls. If they are damned then they are damned."_

But then her existence would become nothing. She would succumb to even more loneliness if such a thing was possible.

* * *

His identical twin met him at the door of the Devil May Cry shop. Through the years the shop had received a good reputation when it came to hunting and exterminating the supernatural, but it didn't mean that it made a living off missions. "Hey Verg, want some pizza?" Dante snickered as he waved the slice between them. His brother, Vergil, gave a roll of his eyes in utter disgust. It's all the man ever ate. Pushing the demon to the side, "You're going to get fat, Dante." He wandered in only to be assaulted with the smell of tomato sauce and aging cheese. _There are more pizza boxes here than yesterday._ "Do you ever clean up?"

"If you don't like my décor then take your leave." His twin shrugged, closing the door behind them.

"It's a pigsty in here. No wonder we don't have any customers."

"Your house isn't all shits and giggles either."

"I believe it would have been if it wasn't for your rotten influence."

"What can I say? I'm a natural role model." Dante said in-between bites of pepperoni. "Anyways, get off my case. I've already got the ladies bitching so give it a rest. Now about that mission we talked about, seems we got ourselves a little infestation downtown. A damn church even." He sat down at his desk, the only surface that wasn't hidden by pizza boxes, and poked at the post-it note beside the old telephone. "Bunch of Beelzebubs in the church water pipes and shit. Old priest man says that if we can get it done before the afternoon then three thous—"

"Only three thousand?"

"It would've been four but… pissed the old geezer off."

Vergil sighed and leaned over the desk to eye his twin with a fixed gaze of brotherly disappointment. "Typical. You're foolish." He slapped the pizza slice out of his brother's hand, "Remind me why I even bothered to team up with you?"

Within the breath of a second Dante stood and withdrew his trusted guns from their holsters. "No one disgraces _my_ pizza. That box was twelve bucks, a dollar per slice. You've got a death wish."

* * *

 **Please, pleas, please give me your thoughts. Do you like it, hate it? Am I doing these characters any justice? Give me the good, the bad, and the ugly when it comes to reviews!**


	2. Part 02

**_warning: violence and mention of squishy gore ahead and even some crude humor (slight)._**

 **Thank you for the reviews and ideas. Good to know that my research and odd hours of game play are paying off somewhat in this story. Hopefully I don't stray away from the character mindsets I created in the first part (this second part is driving me crazy). I apologize if the characters curse too much, I have found myself throwing it in there to see how it sounds if it came from that character and then don't change it even if it didn't fit (I forget about it). No Cia in this part.**

 **If anyone gets the tomato juice reference that Dante mentions then you're awesome!**

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 **Part 02 – Spawn**

* * *

 _" I can't escape this hell, so many times I've tried, but I'm still caged inside. Somebody get me through this nightmare… "_

 _-Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace_

* * *

He struggled against his captors as best he could, but the two boys had him pinned to the ground. It had barely been ten minutes since his old man had dropped him off at the mundane high school and right when that beat up car had driven off he had gotten ambushed. "You bastard, fuckin' my sister!" He felt his neck snap as his head was forced to one side, cheek grazing the dirt from the blow. A few comebacks fired off in his mind, many of which he had heard his uncle utter to a few choice customers at the shop, but he refrained. Unlike his father and uncle, he himself wasn't nearly as strong to fight off demons let alone teenagers who were likely high off their asses.

Nero spit the bit of blood that bubbled up from his throat and refrained a laugh. The comebacks were so golden… what more could they do to him? "I've fucked better." He grinned as he corrected his head back to its former position. Of course the talk earned him another blow to the face, but it didn't deter him in the least. "She was pretty loose if you ask me!" Nero would have laughed at his added comment, but the third punch to the face forced him to reconsider that option.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth, you creep!" Credo, the bitch's older brother, was a continuous pain in his ass, but it made him smile inside to see the older boy get all bothered that his precious sister had been fucked by his enemy.

"Yeah, creep with the fucked up arm." Laughed one of Credo's shorter minions who had taken possession of Nero's right arm. At the mention of said arm, the little shit began to pull at the thick layer of gauze that hid the demonic appendage. No one except his father, uncle, and the ladies at the shop knew about his arm, but he did well to hide the sudden burst of fear that settled in his stomach.

 _If they see that scary shit then I'm screwed._ Screwed? The old man would think he had been careless and kill him. That and despite there being a shop in town for demon hunting, not many knew of the demons that intermingled with the town's everyday life. It was preferred that way that, especially with the fanatics that lurked about nowadays.

"Were you jealous that I fucked your sister, huh Credo? Did'ya wanna tap that yourself?" The attention, for the moment, quickly returned back to his face. Nevertheless, Nero kept on going with his words. It was better to dig himself a grave with his "peers" rather than face the wrath of his father. "Oh, did you know she likes it rough?" This time when his head snapped to one side, he saw spots burn their way into his vision.

"Credo, maybe we should just break up his fucked up arm, that'll teach him!" Said the second minion who pinned Nero's other arm. Good luck with that, the thing was as hard as steel. "Or we could rough him up a bit with this," he excitedly, perhaps too excitedly, pulled out a knife from his front pocket and brandished it with a grin.

"Or just cut his arm." Credo suggested as he snatched the blade away.

Maybe he shouldn't have insulted the guy's sister… even if his own comments made him smile inside. Then again a knife couldn't do much to the arm either, but if they hit where his human flesh connected with demonic flesh then that would hurt like a son of a bitch. It would likely heal in a day or so, but the pain would be damn near awful. He'd actually tried to hack off his arm before when he was much younger and had found that tidbit the hard way.

Luck was never on his side. Credo placed the blade's point right before his shoulder. _Ah hell_ , and down the weapon went and out came the obscenities.

* * *

Dante leaned against a pew, eyes wandering around at the vastness of the sanctuary before them. The building outside looked much smaller than it did inside, but its quaint appearance made since because the deity they worshiped was nothing like the ones in the usual, practiced religions. "Crazy loons just don't get it, do they? All these demonic 'gods' that they talk about were assholes who didn't give two shits about humanity." He shook his head, leaning back as he peered up at the scaffolding. "That little bastard was annoying as hell to kill too."

His twin nodded in agreement as he too looked over the statue of the church's supposed god—Griffon. It wasn't really all that surprising anymore, both of them had heard of the churches wrongfully worshiping their father and even their shared enemy, Mundus. The churches and their people were usually corrupt and a fair amount were even possessed, depending on how devoted they were. Nevertheless, the fact that this church was one that hailed a vile demon was fairly concerning. "Could be a trap." He said, just audible enough for his twin to hear.

"You seriously thinking on running with your tail between your legs? We need that money."

"So you can buy more pizza?"

"What else would I get? 'Sides tomato juice."

Vergil sighed, turning away from the statue to look over his pathetic excuse for a brother, "A life. You're so predictable."

"Get off your high horse." Dante replied as he withdrew from the row of pews.

"Get on my level and maybe I'll consider it." He repeated something he had heard Nero say countless times before, " _Anyways_ if this is a trap then there is no pay."

Dante shook his head, waving a hand to dismiss the fact entirely. Though they had been caught in traps before, he was certain that this was a simple, cut to the chase kind of deal with no strings attached. After all, he doubted the church members who had contacted Devil May Cry knew about the history of the Underworld. "Surely the life of a good, little daddy hasn't made you lose your shit, Verg. Can you not smell that rotten asses of those Beelzebub?" He ignored the ice cold glare as he sauntered down the aisle, "Now let's go find us a priest, get us some Beelzebub ass, and get hitched."

Vergil was reluctant to follow, but he did test the air once more just to be sure. He did smell the rotten flesh of Beelzebub; however, that didn't mean they were in the clear. Leave it to Dante to shrug things off with jokes and curses. It was a wonder why he still tolerated the man, brother or not.

As he pondered over testing Yamato on the back of Dante's head, his brother left the sanctuary and headed down into the back hall. The smell was already escalating to the point where the demonic hunter had to cover his nose and it only got worse from there. Checking each plaque on the door, he made his way down the majority of the hall until he reached the last sign.

 _Pastor Kolgham's Office_

Glancing over his shoulder, he gave a roll of his eyes. Vergil was such a baby sometimes. He almost felt sorry for his little devil spawn of a nephew. Yet when he knocked on the door, "Hey preacher man," and received nothing but silence in return he reconsidered. His twin wasn't always wrong when it came to his wariness, but… just in case, Dante knocked once more. "Kiss-a-gram." Again silence.

It was a little off-putting that they hadn't met a single member of the church yet. Just a little.

"Dammit, if he's right on this," he sighed as he withdrew his trusted Ebony and Ivory. The smell was rather sharp in this area of the hall and even if Vergil's concern was false then perhaps he could blame the damage that was about to occur on the Beelzebub. Either way he kicked the door down, its frail wood cracking underneath his boot. The hinges gave a squeal of protest before the door fell to the floor, its fall reverberating with in the hall.

The smell of decaying meat bombarded him, but it did little to deter him from stepping into the dark room. What fell before him wasn't something he found surprising in the least. The once tan carpet was now red, smeared with body entrails and bodily fluid. All across the walls the picture frames were smashed and dripping with blood, the light fixture overhead was shattered and still swinging to and fro, and the furniture within the office was torn to the point of being unrecognizable. "Looks like we missed the rehearsal party." Dante commented, shaking his head at the scene. It made sense that they didn't see anyone at the front entrance; they had all been slaughtered and ripped up into gushy piles of confetti. Testing the air and the foul smell that tainted it, he came to the conclusion that his brother was right—as he usually was—and that it wasn't the telltale scent of Beelzebub he had been so adamant about.

He lurked further in the depths of the mess, trying his best to not get his boots soiled, but the challenge was rather impossible to achieve because everywhere he stepped he heard the squish of meat. There were no sign of clothes or any signs of what human had been murdered. There wasn't even any hint to what had made the mess. Then again nothing was ever that easy. Dante would have continued his search aimlessly until he either found a clue or found the perpetrator, but a crash of woodwork and glass drew his attention away from the untidiness. He looked back to the hall just in time to see his twin fly right through the walls and slam against one of the first few doors.

The monstrosity that followed left a fiery trail behind it, its six legs making an eerie sound as it searched for its prey. Its flesh was etched with lava, the fine lines weaving around gray canvas. Gigantic gashes were ripped at its joints and from there the lava pooled down to the burning floor beneath it. Its head was massive, but its multitude of coal eyes was such a tiny comparison to its skull. _"Pathetic human!"_ Dante would never forget such an ugly mug or that irritating voice.

"I thought I stomped your ass, Ant." Dante called out, aiming Ebony freely in the air just in case his little taunts didn't catch the arachnid's attention.

Sure enough, the Phantom turned away from its victim. Soulless, black eyes rolled in on its murderer and screeched. Who could forget the son of a bitch, Dante? _"I'll make you choke on your entrails, you puny thing!"_ It screamed, its very breath shaking the walls. Angrily it thrust forward, running toward the youngest devil hunter, but right as the first bullet was set off the revived general ran to the side of the hall and up the wall.

There was a share of curses before the spider landed, front legs shooting out to stab through nephilim flesh. Dante swerved, the right leg barely missing his crimson trench coat as he hit the side of the wall and slid sideways. Thankfully the hall was small and the Phantom couldn't turn as quickly, but its pulsing flame that leaked from its pores was starting to engulf the floor and the walls surrounding them. Without a second to lose, Dante jumped up between the giant's legs and shot over its abdomen. Arching his body upward, he twisted around until he was staring down at Phantom midair. "Choke on this, bastard!" His arms shot out, Ebony and Ivory in hand, and he let lose an air raid of bullets. Shells exploded everywhere, splintering the wood, burning skin, and darting through lava and gray flesh. The beast beneath him screeched and squirmed frantically, its body smooshing against the hall wall in attempts to turn.

He landed on the other side of the abdomen and holstered his counterparts, hands ready to draw the blade that glistened at his back, but then a leg came. His back met the wall, hard. The demon hunter had had much worse when dealing with the enemy, but it didn't mean that the second leg that came toward him didn't hurt like a bitch. The blade-like pincher dug into the flesh until the point touched the wall behind the hunter. Right through the chest.

Spitting up the blood that flooded his mouth, Dante gripped the Phantom's leg and pulled, but the wretched beast did not sway. "Anytime now, Verg." He called, impatient as he felt a wild surge of emotion build up in his gut. It was surely his inner beast talking, but there wasn't enough energy built up to simply let loose. One had to be careful when it came to their inner demons.

As if on cue, the Phantom screeched. Its spittle coating Dante's face as it pulled out its pincer, the appendage ripping out bits of flesh and guts from its nemesis, as it frantically turned its attention to the second attacker who had taken refuge atop its abdomen. Vergil withdrew his blade—Yamato—from the squishy body of the arachnid only to drive it back in and with each stab of the sword came a louder screech. It banged against the walls, flames licking the majority of the hall's confines, and floundered about in desperation but Vergil held his ground.

Only when the heat started to catch on his blue attire did he pull out his sword for the tenth time and jump back into the flames. Phantom wailed, its abdomen gushing blackened goop as the lava about it started to flow faster, more violently. It coated the floor like water, piling upon itself to the point of flooding.

"Now might be a good time to fall back." Vergil called out over the audible anger and curses. The walls were shriveling up and caving in slowly but surely, their space becoming less and less.

* * *

The white haired teen stumbled up the sidewalk, his jacket bundled up among his arms to the point where his bandaged arm was hidden underneath the multitude of fabric. He was fairly confident that the blood had stopped flowing, but his arm had gone numb a while ago. Thankfully the bastards hadn't unwrapped the bandage, but they still did a number on it.

Trudging up to the house, he paused only once in his stride to check the driveway. Not a car in sight and it was well past the afternoon but not quite time for his school to let out. Then again that finding wasn't particularly new to him, assignments didn't always go as planned. Nevertheless, he found this a good thing. His old man would surely go off the deep end on him. Nero had skipped school today…

When he confined himself in the safety of his home he quickly dropped the jacket and unwrapped the bloodied bandage to reveal the damage. The sight of his demonic arm always disgusted him. The damned thing gave him nightmares, but the state of his arm at this moment was far worse than it usually was.

It was bubbling with blackened slime, the bloodied vessels giving off a soft glow of blue that was barely noticeable form the blood that coated the raw flesh. The appendage looked like a twisted mass of muscle and veins that continued to feast on his humanoid flesh. Even now, the mass of demonic skin had moved further up his arm to the point where it was no meshing into his shoulder. It was growing and that scared him. It especially scared him when he noticed how deep the knife had gone. The mound of twisted muscle was gaping open at a gash, veins protruding like a mess of wires. The wound had gone halfway through the arm, stopping at the bone.

He poked it only to draw his hand back with an animalistic hiss. The wound was on fire.

"What the fuck." Nero growled, grasping the gnarled appendage at the shoulder, "What the fuck." He found that he uttered those words a lot in his head when it came to his deformity, but what else could he say? One of his body parts frightened him to no end and…

"I wish those bastards had cut the damn thing off."

What was he? The abnormality always brought up that question. He wasn't a pedigree, a full-fledged demon, and he had no abilities like his father. Yet how could he be human with an arm that looked like raw meat? His father always told him that he thought too much… easier for him to say, he only looked like a freak when he underwent a Trigger.

A car rolled into the drive and Nero's heart almost stopped right as the car's engine faded to silence. He had to get fresh bandages, had to hide the damage, and had to hide himself. Demons could smell blood right? That and his father was probably pissed over the assignment, he hadn't gotten his wish of ending it before the afternoon. Of course the old man would be even more flustered at his son because at this time he was supposed to still be in school.

He ran up the stairs as quickly as he could without making too much noise. The only bathroom in the blasted house resided on the second floor, stuck in the middle between his room and his father's room. It was rather untidy, resembling the unclean appearance of the kitchen, and its smallness only added to the petite look of the house.

He reached the bathroom right as the front door opened. He heard the telltale sigh of a disgruntled hunter and he froze, his hand still lingering on the bathroom doorknob. Maybe if he moved quietly then…

"Nero." Nero flinched at his name and nearly cringed at the fingers that curled around his shoulder. When had his old man…

He turned around, hiding his mangled arm behind him and managed a smile, "Oh, dad… you're home."

His father was covered in ash, his clothes tattered and smoking. He looked rough. "As are you. Please do enlighten me. You had detention today and school isn't even out yet, you shouldn't be home for another hour or so." His tone was even, dead and with each word he added a little more pressure to his grip.

Think. Think. Think. "School let out earl—"

"Bullshit."

Just keep going with it. "Well, it did and detention was cancel—"

"You suck at lying, kid." He jerked Nero to the side, revealing his hidden arm and all its fallen glory. "What happened? Did a demon attack you again?"

"No… uh… sort of…"

Vergil eyed him, his grip on his son's shoulder never softening, "You didn't try to cut your arm off again, did you?" It had happened many times before. "Did we not go over this? You're a hybrid, Nero. You have three races of blood running through you, it's expected to have some type of abnormality. Your body can't handle all that—"

"I didn't try to cut the damned thing off this time!" Nero snapped, finally jerking himself free from his father's hold. It was irritating, to hear that crap about his lineage over and over again. It was easy for his old man to say, he didn't have to live with the issues his "lineage" gifted him. "I just got ambushed by some shit guys is all, they did it." _Humans_ did it. It was always humans, never demons that bothered him. "Shitty humans, again. It's always humans, always."

His father shifted, his gaze widening at the words. He'd heard that tone used before, but never by his son. He'd even heard something along those lines… by his own mouth. The meaning was absent, it wasn't like his words back then, but he found it troublesome. Yet, what was there to say? He couldn't kill humans, no, that would be going against his word to Dante. However, with that being said he couldn't really console his kid either. It was a futile thing to even try and try he had many times before when he found his kid crying on the floor because he had almost succeeded in cutting off his arm.

What does a father do in these situations? Would hugging the kid be appropriate or was it a bad time? Should he investigate the bullying further and report the little shits to the school administration? Should he just take the kid out of school and home school him? No, terrible idea. Then nothing? Was that really for the best? What else was there to say, to do? Vergil wasn't affectionate, not in a fatherly way, and this very realization drove him to wish that he wasn't a single father raising a kid.

If only she hadn't… "Humans are not all that bad. You just need to know where to look and where to stand." If only he hadn't left to go to that assignment that day then maybe he wouldn't be the only parent standing here. Of course mulling over it now wouldn't bring her back and it certainly wouldn't bring any closure or an idea to console his kid. "All right, let's get that mess fixed up. You're bleeding all over the damn floor."

* * *

 **Phantom was a general of Mundus (if I remember correctly) and was killed by Dante in the game series.**


	3. Part 03

**I've not done a bit of fanfic into DmC series until now so please stay with me! Your criticism is most loved whether it be positive or negative (how else shall I improve?). The main part that I am concerned with this chapter is the "Credo is being an ass again" scene.**

* * *

Part 03 – Drown

 _" It comes in waves, I close my eyes  
Hold my breath and let it bury me. "_

\- _Drown by Bring Me the Horizon_

* * *

Vergil closed the bedroom door at his back, eyes closing for just a moment to dwell in thought. His clothes were still a mess from the recent adventures of demon hunting and now he had an additional bit of hybrid blood splattered onto burnt fabric. At the moment he couldn't figure out which was more worrisome, the fact that a dead general from hell returned or the fact that his son was reminding him of his former self. The arachnid's carcass had burst into flames when the church had collapsed so Dante and he had no way to confirm that it was indeed the real Phantom so there was that threat… but the kid.

"Dammit," he shook his head, body still resting against his son's bedroom door. Did it mean he was a terrible father if he hadn't seen this coming? Yes, the brat had said something mildly understandable, but there was a possibility that a "father like son" scenario would unfold. "He did try to cut off his own arm before." Vergil muttered, peeling away from the wooden support to the creaking staircase.

As he descended down the old, narrow steps he found himself reminiscing over something dark and long forgotten. His former self was unstable and entirely unsettling. However, at that time he had thought that everything he believed in was _right_. Humans are weak. They need protection. He was a devil and devils need power. He stepped into the minute kitchen and made a beeline to the fridge. It was always a pain in the ass when he thought of the times where he turned against everyone he knew and loved. He even tried to kill his own brother, his twin, the only one who tried countless times to understand him. His mother had surely tossed and turned in her grave.

There was only one alcoholic drink left in the fridge along with an old box of greasy pizza leftovers and milk. Vergil grabbed the beverage, finding himself cursing his demonic origin, and popped the screw top lid. He couldn't get drunk, no matter how much he drank, but it would've been nice if such a thing were possible. Then again, he wasn't sure how he would act if he ever did achieve the ability to be drunk off his ass.

The devil hunter stalked into the den that was adjacent to the kitchen, plopping down on a rather poor excuse for a couch. It protested underneath the sudden weight and sunk down until its bottom touched dusty wood. It was entirely uncomfortable what with its lumpy cushions, moth ball smell, and rough, torn fabric. Either way he felt that if he were to head up to his bedroom then he'd fall asleep right then and there. It was a good idea… to sleep; however, it would only encourage his worries to run amok in his dreams.

Vergil took a drink, his thoughts still focusing on the past. How long had it been since Dante had finally gotten into his head? How long had it been for him to _open his eyes_? Humans weren't entirely weak. They didn't need to have a babysitter. They didn't need a ruler, a shadow hovering over them.

How long since he had found himself caring for a human? He'd once believed that his heart would go out to a human when hell froze over… then again she was different. She was independent, observant, smart, funny, brave, headstrong, and accepting. Different. Most of all, she was accepting when it came to his kind, his job, and his malnutrition of understanding and emotion.

It was surprising how much one could drink while lost in thought. He swirled the remaining liquid 'round the bottom of the bottle, eyes lingering over the family photos that scattered a part of the wall over the old, bulky television. He had to stare at those smiles every now and again to remember what she looked like. The kid only had her face, but even then he found himself forgetting the way her eyes squinted when she laughed, the way her hair fell over in the wind, and her voice. He missed her voice.

The devil would have reminisced for just a bit longer if it were not for the slightest of sounds coming from the staircase. He only tilted his head in acknowledgement as the sound descended the steps. "You should be in bed." He said, icy eyes glancing to the individual that seemed to take shelter underneath the archway.

Nero grumbled something incoherent as he trudged further into the den, eyes downcast. His demonic arm was wrapped in fresh gauze, but it appeared that the cuts' blackened substance were already staining the bandages. He made his way to the couch and joined the devil hunter. The couch protested a second time, its groan deep and long as it sagged even more.

"Couldn't sleep?" Vergil asked, looking to his side as he sat the bottle by his feet. Odd, his kid usually crashed right when his head hit the pillow. Maybe the injuries on his arm were making him ill? He wasn't very good at allowing his demon blood to heal. His father was just about to brush a hand against his forehead, but Nero simply leaned into him. The very action caught Vergil off guard, but he remained relatively still.

"You smell like smoke." The voice was barely audible, even for Vergil's enhanced hearing.

"Went to a barbeque." He replied.

"Burn any burgers?"

"By accident, yeah."

Then silence. It wasn't incredibly awkward, but it wasn't rather unwelcoming either. They both seemed out of sorts, like father and son. Perhaps it was because both father and son were looking across the den at family photos. Those frozen smiles were so old. Compared to the time that dwelled in the photos, such smiles were a rarity now.

Vergil broke his interest in the pictures when he felt the kid beside him shift. He only gave the boy another glance for he could already guess the reason for the added weight against his side. Very slowly, very cautiously he raised his arm and brought Nero closer to him. It wasn't something he usually did, having such close contact with his own flesh and blood. It felt odd… awkward. Nevertheless, he assumed it was needed. It was that and the fact that he really didn't want to hear the kid snoring in his ear.

* * *

Her violet eyes met utter oblivion. White stretched on as far as the eye could see. It almost felt like the whites of her eyes were burning, melting into her flesh. This oblivion was surely different. There were no flashes of souls, no instances of life. Nothing but white. It made her desire darkness. Made her wish to curl up into herself and fade away into nothing.

 _"But then who would watch the souls?"_ The voices continued to pester her, to pull at her thoughts. Ever since she had felt the omen, her conscience had risen from the lonesome darkness in her mind. Ever since the pictures burned and shriveled up into black dust…

She rose, silken robes falling like waterfalls against her skeletal figure. To move was hell. Her body ached from receiving the violent premonition, her bones creaked, and her frame shook. For centuries she'd had ominous visions of death. She saw the World Wars come and go, saw the never ending battle amidst demons and angels, saw nature best humanity, and saw tragedies that became forgotten events left on paper. Yet this was different. She didn't hear cries of weapons, cries of souls, or the cries of Mother Nature. No, all she heard was silence and all she felt was cold.

 _"Let the humans be humans."_

But this is different.

 _"A Watcher of Souls cannot interfere with will."_

Then what was the point of her existence?

 _"We may only interfere when it is deemed necessary. It's best not to bother such powers with such childish matters."_

She gave an unnecessary breath as she glared out at the whiteness before her. Her vision was different. It needed to be known.

 _"It's best not to bother such power—"_

"Silence!" Her sharp, melodic voice made the realm of white flicker, "My existence is in jeopardy. The souls are in danger. I will not stand for this. I—"

 _"Don't you dare."_

"Request a meeting with the Triune, now!" At the sound of her beautiful voice the realm of white shook and splintered. All around her cracks spiraled out like fingers, curling on the white and peeling it back to reveal the darkness that she had grown so accustomed too. A chorus of screams clawed their way out of the forming cracks as if the domain was an entity. If she was human her ears would've bled from the very cries. Then the white shattered, pieces flying off until they vanished in puffs of white smoke. The screams fell abruptly, dying off with a sigh.

She found herself back in darkness, but this void was not hers. It was not her home, her sanctuary. No, the chill in the air was much harsher and the silence was much louder. It was emptier… lonelier. Perhaps it was because her conscience was no longer there or because she was still shaken by the vision. She would've gone for either if it were not for the shimmering red orb that appeared before her, bobbing to and fro in a frenzy. Her eyes could barely keep up with its erratic movements.

 _"What does a figment like you have to say?"_ A voice resonated from the orb. With each word its red light pulsed.

Behind it another orb danced into view. This one was blue and moved almost delicately to and fro. _"You summoned the Triune, did you not?"_ Whispered the blue orb.

To her side an orb of green materialized from the darkness. It moved gently, but erratically. _"You haven't requested our presence for centuries."_ Said the green orb.

Yes, it was true. She hadn't seen these celestial balls of light for years. When she had, she had requested their aid on an issue of which was one of her first visions. She had been scared at the time, but had grown used to such sporadic anomalies. Then again, here she was… over a vision.

"Din, Nayru, and Farore, I requested your presence because of a vision I received." She said.

 _"You have had a million of these visions of yours. What makes this one so different?"_ Questioned the green orb, Farore.

 _"Does it have to do with the silence that fell only moments ago?"_ Asked the blue orb, Nayru.

"I can no longer see the souls. The images burned up right after I received an omen."

All orbs ceased in movement, their pulsing lights becoming a solid hue that grew fainter and fainter to the point where she had to squint her eyes to see them.

 _"That's impossible."_ Stated the red orb, Din.

 _"Anything is possible, sister. After all we have never received such dreadful silence."_ Said Farore.

 _"Then what must we do? We cannot interfere with the lives of mortals. We promised such things when we left our creations."_

 _"We must do something. It is a necessity, this silence could mean the destruction of the universe we so lovingly birthed. Without the watching of souls… the balance must have been broken by something."_

She listened to Farore and Din chatter back and forth, their lights gradually returning to their usual brightness. Yet her eyes followed the floating orb of Nayru. "If I may, I believe it has something to do with a name. Mundus. That's all I received before the images vanished."

Farore quickly replied, _"Then we must do something. We must act. If the watcher of souls can no longer perform its duties then that means that the balance of the universe has already faltered. This is entirely troublesome, but we cannot simply go down there and—"_

 _"We will send the soul watcher."_ Nayru finally spoke up as it twirled around her, its faint glow becoming brighter with each word. _"We will send it to a chosen hero where it will_ aid _. In this way we will not interfere with will. It is rather useless to have this existence frolicking in our realm since its duties have recently expired."_ It swam around her once more before spinning around her head, its glow blinding. _"But it must appear human. It must have a name. Watcher of souls… I will allow you the choice of name."_

Her violet eyes blinked. A name? A name that shall be hers and hers alone. Something that will mark her first decision, her first act of will, her proof of existence. Yet was it really this simple? Did a name come from the tip of the tongue? Was it to have meaning, was it to look and sound a certain way? What was a human name made of, just simple letters that made a sporadic sound?

"Cia."

* * *

"I'm fine." The young half-demon reiterated for the umpteenth time. He leaned into the car door, using its sun bleached arm rest to prop his head up on a hand. It was incredibly odd for his father to fret over little things like humanoid bullies. Nero had been bullied before to the point where he had lost count. He had told his father of those many encounters, hadn't he? Probably not. Quite frankly, he found it embarrassing. He, a son of a Nephilim and a nephew of a devil, couldn't even defend himself properly. Goddess, he didn't even know how to tap into his demonic side for crying out loud!

The car came to a slow stop at a traffic light. "Nero," the teen gave an audible sigh of recognition, "I'm just… worried… about you." Nero blinked at that. His father wasn't one to express himself well and the word "worry" didn't sound normal. Did their little moment on the couch last night influence his father that much? It was rare for them to have a moment of silence and even when Nero was younger, he never really fell asleep next to his father.

"It's _fine_. Stop blowing stuff out of propor—"

"They tried to cut your arm off. What if they had? What if they had torn the bandages off? You know some of the humans still aren't accepting of the idea of demons existing."

The teen sighed again, pressing his bandaged arm to his chest. He should be appreciative of the concern, but it felt wrong. It was usually his mother… "It was my fault, I goaded the idiots. It won't happen again. Okay?"

Silence spoke for his father as did the hand that clenched the steering wheel. Perhaps Nero's tone of voice was inappropriate, but he merely wanted the subject dropped. It won't happen again because if it did he'd stab _them_ and cut off _their_ arms.

The car pulled up to the sidewalk and before his father could reiterate his worry, Nero jumped out of the vehicle. Rolling his eyes at his own spawn's childishness with a rather serious issue, he said, "I may be late tonight. Just because I won't be home to time you… don't skip classes." He heard his son sigh before the car door slammed shut. He sighed himself. Taking care of a kid—a teen—was definitely not his forte and even when he tried it still never seemed to be enough.

He actually would have liked to mull over it more, but a screeching ringtone ripped him from such self-pity. Electronics annoyed him and this was especially so when it came to cellular devices. Call him old fashioned, he preferred face to face contact. Despite this, Dante insisted on cellphones. It only urged a desire to punch his twin in the face whenever the ringtone screeched. This was especially so when it was Dante's hand-picked ringtone of "I'm too sexy." When the song itself reached the second verse he was frantically fishing through his pockets in search of the infernal contraption. It was almost music to his ears when he found said device and tapped the "answer" icon. "What is it now?"

"What, can I not call to hear your lovely voice?" His younger brother's voice crackled, probably grinning at his own words.

"I don't have time for your try at cuteness, brother." Vergil set the phone on speaker, dropping it on the passenger's seat, and slowly drove the car past the school zone. "I just dropped the kid off, now what do you want? I'm already headed to the shop and if it's about you're disgusting choice of food then no, I do not want to chip in and buy you pizza."

"But what are brothers for if not for buying each other pizza? Where's the love?"

"Dante."

"Lighten up, man."

"I'm going to hang up on your ass." He ran a red light as he spoke.

"All right, all right, I'm calling about an issue with the _gate_. She's acting… weird."

"Define weird?"

"Well it's… just get your ass over here."

* * *

He kept to the back of the class, close to the window. Here he could at least pretend he wasn't in a classroom full of humans, of idiots. It would have been a plus if his seat in the back helped draw attention away from him, but it seemed to do the exact opposite. Then again, Credo had always hated his guts so having him glare over at Nero was no surprise. Nero had just given him a reason yesterday to hate him even more. Speaking of the little rat… he really wanted to strangle him with his demonic arm. Of course that would go against his family's stupid "code." Just the thought of it made him roll his eyes. Why did they—demons, devils—have to act docile? Why did _he_ have to try and mimic the life of a human?

Yes, he was a hybrid, and no matter how many times he begged, his father and his uncle would refuse to teach him anything about demonology. They wanted him to be _normal_. What the fuck was normal about a half-demon anyway?

Nero nearly fell out of his chair when a hand slammed down on the desktop. He turned to glare, baring his teeth. "What the fuck Credo?" His blue-eyed gaze glanced over his classmate's shoulder, realizing that the teacher had left for the moment. Wonderful.

"I'm surprised you even showed your face, bitch." Credo spat. Nero wiped the spittle from his face and slowly stood up. He wanted to strangle this human so badly, but his father's words held him back.

"I'm not scared of your little wannabe gang and shit." Nevertheless, he tucked his bandaged arm behind his back less he give Credo any ideas on continuing yesterday's conflict.

"You think you're so big and bad, don't'cha?" He leaned forward, Nero leaning back from the sudden smell of the boy's breath. It reminded him of Dante's try at cooking… raw and rotten.

He couldn't help it; the words came out like vomit. "Still whipped from me f-ing your sister? I know you wanted to do that and all so—" he ducked just in time as a fist flew over; however, when the desk between them was knocked over he failed to miss the second blow. He felt his neck snap, cracking, as bony knuckles connected with his mouth. His head flew back and he stumbled backward, back connecting with the wall behind him. The third blow was something he wasn't entirely ready for and it met him just below his left eye. It drew his head to smack against the concrete wall, blood burning his throat. "Not so tough now are you, you little bitch!" Credo laughed. Already their classmates were circling the pair, encouraging the fight to evolve into something more gruesome and far more entertaining.

Nero was trying to ignore it, the chants of "fight fight" and the fourth blow that dug into his gut. His father had taught him better than to succumb to childish fights, right? He was better than these _filthy_ humans, right? An elbow jabbed his ribcage as he heard his rival landed another insult on him, it sounded like it was a reference to him resembling shit, but the half-demon was too engrossed in the burning of his demonic arm.

It felt like a fire was creeping up the rare flesh, saturating the bandages, and clawing up its way to his shoulder. With its intense heat he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kill a human. They were weak, right? It wouldn't hurt to just strangle one of them… right? Oh, but his father would be—

His arm seemed to decide on its own, launching out to shove Credo backward. Instead of falling back a step, the boy flew to the other side of the room where he crashed into the whiteboard. The board cracked in two, desks toppled over on their sides, and his classmates screamed. Normally such audible noises would harm his mildly enhanced hearing, but his senses didn't register the noise. The half-demon was too immersed in his thoughts.

What had he just done? His father was going to kill him!

His fellow students scrambled to help Credo, but he still couldn't hear past the echo in his head. Albeit it didn't keep him from reading lips, from understanding the majority of the words screamed in terror. They deemed him a monster. The very word made his bandaged arm ache. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the noise returned like a tidal wave. His hands immediately flew up to protect his ears against the sudden assault of the word "monster."

He was defending himself, was he not? That wasn't a monstrous thing… Nero glanced toward the white board and grimaced. There was a bit of blood splattered against white and the very sight of it made his stomach twist and turn. Had he really shoved Credo _that_ hard?

"Monster!" No, he was defending himself. _He was, he was, he was_. He didn't me—"Monster." The word itself was deafening and violent. With each iteration he was reminded of the imperfection. He wasn't entirely human and he wasn't entirely devil… what was he? "Monster!" Nero took a step back, as if the very movement would allow him some peace of mind. It only seemed to feed the word and in turn add the fire back on his arm. Was he a monster? He clutched it, bringing it close to his chest—that cursed limb—and turned away from the cracked white board, the toppled desks, and the bothered students.


	4. Part 04

**So I have been listening to Devil May Cry soundtracks and watching Oculus while writing this... hopefully this doesn't come out as a CF (if you are not aware of this word, google XD) because of the multi-tasking. Anyways... let's see if I haven't lost my touch, shall we?**

 **Reviews, positive or negative, are always welcomed. A writer cannot progress without** respectful **criticism (cursing me, insulting me, and etc. is not helpful).**

* * *

 **Part 04–Definition**

 _" There's a rumbling in my head_  
 _It's getting louder and louder_  
 _There's a shaking in my bones_  
 _It's getting stronger and stronger... "_

\- Itch by Nothing but Thieves

* * *

The white haired teen scrambled through the school's hall, clutching his bandaged arm tightly to his chest. His cerulean eyes were wide with fear as he ran, sneakers skidding across hard beige colored floor. He passed the bathrooms, the offices, the classrooms, and the gymnasium. The half-demon ran until the doors that lead to what his mind could only name as freedom came into view. All the while, his heightened senses picked up the startled screams and cries that still erupted from his classroom yet all his mind could register was that one, vile word.

 _Monster_.

It ran amok in his head, whispering nonsense that only fueled his panic. Though the word was small, it meant a lot more than if someone had insisted he was ugly or stupid. Perhaps it was because he was, in a sense, a monstrosity. Sure, demons were deemed as evil and were acknowledged as abominations by humanity, but he—Nero—was a different breed of monster. He didn't quite fit anywhere, human or demon. The word, monster, only reminded him of his mixed blood and the fact that normalcy would always be a rarity. It ostracized him more than his bandaged arm ever could.

The boy only wanted to "fit in." In truth, he wanted to be _human_ like his mother, but instead he was cursed with a deformity and predatory senses that were above any mundane mortal. Nevertheless, he'd tried so damn hard, but a single accident fucked everything up.

He pushed at the heavy, metallic doors with his freehand without breaking his stride. The urge to look back only drove him to pick up his pace as he leapt from the top of the stairs; black converse skidding on asphalt. Only pausing once at the sidewalk, he glanced both ways, and then darted across without a set destination. Frankly, he didn't find interest in where his feet were taking him because all his mind could focus on was the screams, the smell of fear, and that repetitive word that still affected his rationality. It gave him the desire to run until all he can hear, feel, and think is silence.

Zig-zagging through the afternoon crowd and rush-hour traffic, Nero passed the street to his house. He even passed the road that would lead to his uncle's shop. If it were any other situation he would've gladly taken refuge in Devil May Cry, but this time he didn't want a lecture and he didn't want to be treated with gentleness and pity. Not even his own father knew how to deal with his sensitivities when it came to his being and his disgusting arm.

He ran until the buildings became less and less, until the vehicles with their toxic smog were nowhere in sight, and until the colors of the street became aged and lifeless. Only then did he stop and right as he did he felt the weight of his actions. He fell against a broken down, abandoned drugstore and applied his "normal" hand to his chest. His lungs were hungry for air, burning with need, and so he deepened his inhales which only progressed into a coughing fit. Slipping down the brick wall awkwardly, he patted his chest to alleviate whatever had caused the hacking. When the coughing did subside, his attention finally rested on his surroundings.

All around him, the buildings were weathered, aged, and torn apart. Gaping holes layered the streets and street lamps stood every which way except vertically. His fingers traced a crack in the sidewalk absently as his gaze wandered farther down the street. Somewhere down there a crater was likely covering the majority of what the humans now deemed as the graveyard of Temen Ni Gru, the unholy tower created by his grandfather. His father had summoned the powerful tower long ago, but somehow, back in the day, it had vanished when the portal to the Demon World had been closed. He'd questioned about it but neither his father, his uncle, nor their fellow demon hunters would divulge the events that had occurred during the tower's appearance. He would've looked to the history books, but the mortals had been fooled into thinking that an explosion had occurred. They deemed the crater's location as such out of innocence, naming the explosion after the real event.

If humanity were to discover the truth—not all of the humans knew of the demons that frolicked about—then they'd likely hunt every demonic-like creature down. It'd be a reenactment of the Salem witch trials, but instead of calling out a witch… it would be calling out a monster.

 _Monster_.

He cringed at the word as his eyes averted themselves from the views of the street. Looking down to his bandages, he sighed. The damned thing was glowing. It flickered through the white gauze in a hue of bright blues. The sight of its visible aberration drew him to smack it into the wall behind him angrily, but it only brought a string of curses to fall from his lips instead of the odd satisfaction of harming it. With reluctance, he cradled the arm that flickered with ethereal light.

Why couldn't he be normal? _Dammit. Damn it all!_ He smacked his arm onto the ground this time and again it brought on a string of vulgar words, but he kept at it. It aided in increasing the volume of his swearing as well as the pain that started to unleash on the raw flesh.

"Everything would be fucking fantastic, fine and dandy, without this damn thing." His voice cracked with the scream that reverberated through the broken streets, "I could be a normal kid with a semi-normal, fucking life. I just want to cut the damn thing off! The possibility of bleeding to death would be better than lugging this stupid thing around. It would be better than hiding and pretending." Of course, it would not lessen his heightened senses. In addition, it would likely not draw the bullies away from him. With or without the arm, his life would never be anywhere close to _average_.

 _But this arm makes you look like a monster. Imagine, oh imagine, what the clueless people would think if they saw such an ugly sight? They'd burn you alive. They'd use you as a sacrifice or guinea pig. It makes you look like a monster._

He could always try hacking it off again… every time he had tried in the past, he had been either too chicken to do it or his father caught him before he did major damage. However, this time will be—

 _"The blood of Sparda."_ A chorus of icy, thick whispers wafted through the streets. It resembled nails on a chalkboard as well as a purring cat, and the very sound of it drew a shiver to run up the boy's spine.

Nero jolted upright from his peaceful position on the ground, eyes frantically searching for that voice. He hadn't noticed it before, having been too lost in his own self-pity, to witness the streets about him darken. Odd, the sun was still high above him yet…

 _"Yet, it is muddied. Weak. How shameful."_ There it was again and much closer before, the sound whispering just by his ear. He turned aggressively, fists at the ready, but there was nothing but the encroaching darkness.

"Wh-who's there?" Nero called weakly, his demonic arm beginning to hum with a reddish light.

 _"Such a misfortunate birth. Disgraceful."_ He felt the cold breath this time. It felt like talons grazing over the back of his neck. _"A sight for sore eyes, really. You're no demon. You're no human. A blemish, if you will."_ He would've fallen to childishness and cursed at the voice and he almost did just that, but as he turned 'round and 'round, hoping to catch whatever demon it was that taunted him, he wasn't ready for the first contact.

He saw it before it came, but the young demon didn't have time to react as the gigantic, sliming appendage of an arm launched toward him from within the darkened depths. Oozing talons of black encircling his throat and pushing him back, back into the crumbling wall he had taken refuge against not moments before. The very wall shook fearfully, the contact loosening stray bricks and aged dust. The back of his head bounced roughly, teeth biting into his lip at the impact of skull against wall. His blue eyes squinted then, a guttural growl releasing from his throat, as he followed up the muscular arm; his facial features twisting at the smell of decay that wafted from the flesh that restrained him. His gaze met a void of black, a faceless head with broken horns that barely curved at its crown.

 _What the fuck?_ Nero's back arched against the wall, a futile attempt to lessen the pressure by pulling his head back, but the beast only lifted him higher until even the toe of his sneakers could not brush the cracked ground beneath them.

That absent face gave a tilt of the head and then, at that center of wet flesh on the would-be face did lips ooze into place. They appeared gradually, the black slime taking its time to drip away enough to reveal dry, earth caked lips. Those lips peeled back, slowly, and all the while Nero clawed at the hand. All the while, his nails dug into icy, watery skin. His fingers slipped, unable to catch on the hand, but he still struggled. The white haired teen even kicked, but his feet met nothing but air.

Those lips curled unnaturally at the ends, like an 'S,' and when its mouth finally did open, _"Is this what Sparda's bloodline has fallen to, a pitiful mongrel?"_ Its voice—resonating just as before, a chorus of gravely whispers—sent a shiver over the young half demon as did the never-ending rows of jagged fangs that rested within its mouth. That faceless head leaned forward, slimy fingers constricting about his neck, _"Tell me, dog, does your existence not trouble you? The sight of you is surely disgusting, even to those spiteful humans."_

The desire to curse came upon the boy a second time, but even if that childish desire had met fruition, the sudden lack of air confined his words. He kicked wildly, clawed like a cat out of water, but his opponent did not ease. Even when he struck the monstrosity with his demonic arm, the contact burning said arm, the creature did not cease. Instead, it only drew closer to the point where its lips were mere inches from his forehead. _"I could free you from such a disgusting existence. Perhaps rip that abomination from your body… perhaps... "_

Without another word, without a sound, it turned abruptly. Its whole body twisted unnaturally, waist almost performing a '360' before it released the boy. This time, his back did not hit wall but a light pole. His side hit the concrete structure while the side of his temple smacked into the metal pole. It creaked in protest, bending at the sudden weight of the boy.

 _"It would be easy."_

He winced, his hand brushing the side of his head as he slipped down the bending light pole's body to the ground. His hand withdrew, glistening with blood.

 _"It's not like you fit in with the humans, after all, and the demons look down on you, do they not?"_ The whispers burned his ears, _"Humans, such selfish… weak… meaningless creatures. Don't you agree?"_

* * *

Vergil visibly cringed when his twin slurped the pepperonis off his rather large slice of pizza. Then again, Dante eating pizza meant that the news about the portal gate wasn't particularly life-threatening. He continued to watch the demon hunter down the pizza and quickly decided that his brother would eat pizza on any given day, for any reason.

"Stop staring while I eat. It's creepy." Dante grumbled as he gestured with a grease covered hand to the stairs of the Devil May Cry shop. Compared to Vergil's last visit, Dante had cleaned up the remnants of pizza boxes, stray pepperoni, and alcoholic bottles. For once, the shop's interior didn't look all that bad despite the still existing smell of tomato juice. "Now, about that portal." He took his final bite of pizza before grabbing his infamous coat of red that he had left on the desk. "I don't check it much since we closed it for good, but it's been acting funky since last night." He draped the coat over his naked shoulder and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

"Right, what's it doing exactly?" Vergil followed suit, taking the stairs up to the second floor where only a bedroom and bathroom remained. The hall was painstakingly narrow and so one demon had to maneuver at a time.

Dante led the way into his room, walking over the assortment of magazines and clothes toward the decrepit looking dresser that took homage by an unused closet. The room itself was relatively small, but the lack of space was due to the king-sized bed that stood against the wall, across from the door. Beige walls with splitting wallpaper and chipped wood were naked except for the Combichrist poster with a large, golden triangle faded into the background. "It's... how do I say this without sounding crazy?" He glanced over his shoulder, watching his twin successfully knock down a stack of motorcycle articles and almost tripping over a pile of ripped and discarded jeans. "It's talking."

His twin who was now kicking the dirty clothes to the side with clear annoyance—the grimace that plastered over his face apparently not enough to display such aggravation—looked up then, a brow raised to enhance the sudden judgmental look that appeared on his features. Unless his brother was being theatrical and saying that its usual humming sound was it speaking… it had never done something like _that_ before, "You sure you aren't being dramatic?"

Dante took a hand to his heart, looking wounded, but a chuckle that fell from his lips, "Although I do like entering a party with flair, I'm telling the truth." He turned then, hands reaching out the grasp at the dresser's French doors. Upon his touch, the dresser erupted with a red light. It flashed violently, runes of black burning and curling their way into the pale blue wood, and the color that made the room began to bleed. The blues, yellows, and reds dripped from the walls, peeled up from the floors, and drifted off like smoke from the ceilings. All the while, the runes increased until the dresser was nothing but a smoking, black box.

Even if he had witnessed it over twenty times beforehand, it never ceased to amaze Vergil how the portal appeared. The loss of color, a signal that they were being pulled to a separate dimension, a sliver that stood against the human world, was always impressive, but more importantly, the power that it brought when touched by its keeper was breathtaking as well as frightening. That power… even if he had stepped down from his former ways, he still felt that tickling urge to retrieve the possibilities he had once coveted. He had to admit, he did miss the power he had unlocked at one time.

It was still surprising that the duo had kept the portal's location a secret. If anyone caught heads or tails of just where exactly the portal was kept—in a demon hunter's dresser—they would surely die of laughter.

He had to fold his arms tightly against his chest so as to silence the itch that touched his fingers. Especially when the portal's ominous, blood-red glow erupted from the black box's doors. It burst out, enveloping the black box entirely as it enlarged like a hungry mouth. Its very presence silenced the colors about the room entirely, washing them out until only the grays and whites remained.

The twins remained in silence, watching the portal pulse frantically. It took a moment to turn, to rotate clockwise, and it took an even longer moment until its hum of life touched their senses.

Vergil averted his eyes, unable to look upon the portal when it gave out such a melodic voice. Such a melody was like a siren to those who hungered for something more. Even if it was a part of his past, Vergil was no exception to its harmonious tune. "I'm not hearing anything out of the ordinary." He spoke normally, but his voice had an edge of urgency that his twin acknowledged with a slight glance.

"Give it a second, Verg. No wonder the kid gets annoyed with you, so damn impatient." Vergil returned his gaze on the portal and his brother, glaring.

"That's—"

 _' Absque dubio veniet. '_

Vergil blinked, eyes slowly moving to the portal. Dante only grinned, glad that he was not indeed going crazy.

 _' Absque dubio veniet. Equitare… unda tenebris. '_ It came again, soft but audible, yet Vergil was sure that upon human ears, it would sound like a breath of air. It sounded inhuman, genderless, and devoid. That itch crawled over his skin again.

His twin turned away from the gate to the Underworld, grin still present, "It keeps repeating stuff like this. I tried talking to it once, but it didn't change topic. Any ideas?"

 _' Cito mittere lumen par alarum. Absque dubio veniet. '_ It reverberated as if spoken by a multitude of voices, the syllables coming out breathy and long.

"It's Latin… I think." Vergil spoke uneasily, his nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve.

Dante shook his head, "Thank you, Captain Obvious. You know, demonology is all about that Latin and—" he turned, ready to continue scolding his brother on the rather useless response, but the sight of his twin made him pause.

Vergil's blue eyes were dripping red, glowing profusely with the crimson color, and his skin looked dry, caked on like porcelain makeup. His jaw was set tight, bulging from the line in his chin. He stood there, close to the bed, with his nails… no, _claws_ , digging into his arm. It looked to be a weak state of a Trigger taking place. Truth be told, Dante couldn't really remember the last time he had seen Vergil's Devil Trigger, the practice of embracing one's inner demon. If anything, it had been a long while since he had seen his brother use any powers other than his strength and his sword, Yamato.

"You okay, Verg?" Dante spoke, his voice dropping an octave. "You don't look so good." He stepped away from the portal, nearly tripping over a haphazard pile of magazines in the process. His brother only shook his head, white claws digging into skin this time. Spots of blood smeared on the blue sleeve, but his twin didn't seem to notice.

Dante looked behind him, eying the portal. Although he himself didn't thrive for power, he could _feel_ what the portal offered. It made his inner beast warm with delight, but unlike Vergil, he could easily ignore it as well as silence it. Perhaps his brother was reacting from it? Odd, his brother had been near the portal before… "I'll seal it again." Dante offered as he backed up—this time stepping over the magazines, "That might help you look somewhat 'normal.'"

Yet as he turned, giving the portal his full attention, did the portal's red hue change. It happened with a powerful, bright flash that sent a hot wave of air out to the room. It scorched the hairs on Dante's arms and blew the articles of media and clothing on the floor to the corners of the room. With a violently increasing hum, the red oozed out and bled to the floor like waterfalls of blood, and in its place, a snowy, pristine white took its place.

 _' Absque dubio veniet! '_ The voice, too, changed. It grew solemnly, thick like mud, and reverberated within the room like a drum. It burned Dante's eardrums to the point where he had to cover them.

Then it got even weirder. The portal gave a final flash of light, this one whiter and longer than the last; then the white fell, its hum fading into a whisper, and the colors in the room died with it, the grays dying away with a faint breath. All but they eyes of the two demonic twins, a pair of blue and a pair of red, lit up through the sudden, invading darkness. At first, it drew panic in both of the demons, but the hum of the portal could still be heard over the silence. It was faint but still present; however, even without the telltale song of the portal, they could see the portal still performing its circular dance.

"Fuck, that was weird." Dante whistled, "Maybe I should close that…"

Vergil nodded behind him, his red eyes pulling back to their former blues. His dry, cracked skin of snow gradually receded to how it was before, as did the talons, but his fingers did not withdraw from his arm. Yet his undesired attention was no longer thirsting over the portal but on the new addition to the floor. "Dante, was a naked woman lying on your bedroom floor this whole time?"

* * *

The brothers stood at the foot of the bed, both overlooking the oddity on Dante's bed with mixed expressions. They had retrieved the woman from the floor, finding her to be unconscious and incredibly naked. At first, Dante had insisted that she remain as such, but after a long and silent stare from his brother, they got her into one of Dante's shirts and a pair of boxers. Pulling the shirt on a sleeping woman with _horns_ was just as awkward, the hole of the neck barely fit over one curved horn.

"Did she come from the portal?" Dante questioned, scratching the back of his head uneasily. He'd asked the same question three times over, "I mean, this has never happened before. You don't think she's one of Mundus's whores, do you?" At that idea, Vergil shook his head. "Come on Verg, we're never that lucky. Those assholes always come back to try to get a piece of our ass, one way or another. Besides, I'm not saying that bastard is alive or anything." He finally tilted his head to the side, looking to his brother for words, but he only received a nod and silence.

"Would you say something? You haven't said a word since you questioned about a naked woman on my floor." He snapped, pushing his brother on the shoulder.

Vergil pushed him back, but didn't meet his gaze. He hadn't said a word whatsoever and had been staring at the woman what with her white hair, black horns, slim body, and china doll skin since the discovery. Her features were smooth, almost statuesque. He had only strayed away from her once to give his brother a scolding look about allowing her to remain in the nude. "She just… looks familiar." He spoke softly, finally.

Dante winced, "If she had black hair then I could see what you mean, but…" he sighed, "she's gone, Verg. She didn't get sent to the Underworld, just down into the dirt."

His brother shared his sigh, "I am aware of that, but thank you for reminding me that she's dead. I appreciate it." He turned on the heel of his boot, eyes finally pulling away from the sleeping woman.

"Uh, where are you going? We have a hot woman in the bed. The part's just getting started."

Vergil waved him off as he headed to the door, kicking away at any of the items that happened to be in his path, "I'm going home. Call me when she's awake and do be careful, we don't know what she is."

He quickened his pace when he met the stairs, ignoring the calls of his brother as he walked faster. His wrist was still stinging from when he'd dug his talons into it, despite the fact that it had already healed. There was even that bit of desire still clinging to the back of his mind. A part of him still wanted, still hungered for the power that the portal gave off, and so he wanted to get as far away from it and as far away from the woman who looked like his long dead wife.

* * *

The boy was pressed up against the wall yet again, his bloodied sneakers dangling in the air. This time, his body was much too tired to offer up resistance; however, it didn't keep him from shouting vulgarities at the ball of slime. The gash on the side of his head had grown, he probably had a concussion. It reached to his forehead and was still bleeding. Without a doubt, his left leg was broken and his arm was probably out of its socket. Either way, he felt like shit, and the feel of the reeking ooze at his neck wasn't helping the pain lessen any further.

 _"The mortality in you has made you weak. Does that not anger you? Do you want to be like those humans?"_

He pulled at the hand that held him, at the fingers that closed about his neck to cease any bad language that he could dare utter.

 _"You've done nothing wrong yet they judge you. This arm makes you look like a monster. Imagine, oh imagine, what the clueless people would think if they saw such an ugly sight? They'd burn you alive. They'd use you as a sacrifice or guinea pig. It makes you look like a monster."_ Nero gasped at that, fingers seeping into the blackness, for the familiarity that it spoke with was rather eerie. He'd thought those exact words minutes before… or had he? Had this thing been—

 _"Even if you cut off your arm,"_ Its chorus of voices altered, smoothed, and shortened. It stepped up in pitch, its voice morphing into his own, _"You'll never be able to escape the fact that you're a monster."_

Monster.

 _"Humans can be so cruel._ I hate them. _"_

The wet slime began to crawl up his neck, encasing his skin in black ink. It moved slowly, teasingly and all the while it made his skin crawl. He struggled then, thrashing in the demon's hold as that goop moved to his chin.

 _"_ They're just so cruel. They're just so weak. Why does my father have to favor them? They're disgusting. _"_

It reached his lips then. In his final attempt at retaliation, he closed his mouth, but the substance slipped in without difficulty. It slipped in like water and instantly brought him into a coughing fit. Whatever it was, it tasted awful. Something like expired meat. Yet no matter how much he coughed, it continued on until it reached the back of his throat.

 _"_ If they deem me a monster, then why not show it to them? _"_ Again that black face smiled, showing off its endless rows of jagged teeth. _"_ Why not embrace the demon blood within me? _Why not take on what my father could not?"_

He felt it drip down his throat, burn through his body, but the slime didn't stop there. No, it crawled up to his nose, his eyes, and his ears. It spread like the plague and encased everything that it touched in a thick, black goop. It was so very cold and so very gross, but the coughing and the thrashing did little to deter it. The black stretched like fingers, reaching the water line of his eyes. When it touched his eye balls, he screamed, but the scream was silenced by a mere tightening of the hold at his neck.

Why hadn't he listened to his father? Never talk to strangers—especially demons—and don't skip school.

* * *

 **Who was that creepy, gooey dude? A decayed, badly summoned version ('tis why he's all slimy and gross) of a boss in Devil May Cry 2 :3**

 **The repetitive phrase from the portal is:** Without doubt will come/It will come. **While the other phrases are:** Ride the wave of dark/On a wave of the dark. Quickly to send a light pair of wings/Quickly send a light of wings. **The translations are rough so pardon my misuse. I'm more knowledgeable in Spanish (not fluent anymore, sadly).**


End file.
